-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Дэвид Копперфильд
-
- Стр. 123/820
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
‘
He
is
in
his
mother
’
s
arms
,
’
said
he
.
‘
Oh
,
poor
little
fellow
!
Is
he
dead
?
’
‘
Don
’
t
mind
it
more
than
you
can
help
,
’
said
Mr
.
Omer
.
‘
Yes
.
The
baby
’
s
dead
.
’
My
wounds
broke
out
afresh
at
this
intelligence
.
I
left
the
scarcely
-
tasted
breakfast
,
and
went
and
rested
my
head
on
another
table
,
in
a
corner
of
the
little
room
,
which
Minnie
hastily
cleared
,
lest
I
should
spot
the
mourning
that
was
lying
there
with
my
tears
.
She
was
a
pretty
,
good
-
natured
girl
,
and
put
my
hair
away
from
my
eyes
with
a
soft
,
kind
touch
;
but
she
was
very
cheerful
at
having
nearly
finished
her
work
and
being
in
good
time
,
and
was
so
different
from
me
!
Presently
the
tune
left
off
,
and
a
good
-
looking
young
fellow
came
across
the
yard
into
the
room
.
He
had
a
hammer
in
his
hand
,
and
his
mouth
was
full
of
little
nails
,
which
he
was
obliged
to
take
out
before
he
could
speak
.
‘
Well
,
Joram
!
’
said
Mr
.
Omer
.
‘
How
do
you
get
on
?
’
‘
All
right
,
’
said
Joram
.
‘
Done
,
sir
.
’
Minnie
coloured
a
little
,
and
the
other
two
girls
smiled
at
one
another
.
‘
What
!
you
were
at
it
by
candle
-
light
last
night
,
when
I
was
at
the
club
,
then
?
Were
you
?
’
said
Mr
.
Omer
,
shutting
up
one
eye
.
